


Let The Beast Out For The Monster’s Want To Play

by jungle_ride



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/pseuds/jungle_ride
Summary: Peter, who has always enjoyed the twists and turns their relationship has been fraught with, can’t say that this particular development has been his favourite. Trapped in an abounded cabin surrounded by wolfsbane in the middle of nowhere, being treated like a pet has never been on Peter’s bucket list. Then again having Lydia for a mate hadn’t been on it either, and now, well now that was his favourite thing.





	Let The Beast Out For The Monster’s Want To Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).



> So this is based off/inspired by the tags ‘owned like a pet’, ‘killing together’, ‘blood kink’ and a little bit of ‘failure to tame the beast/monster goes off leash’. I saw those tags listed, with this couple and this idea just sort of popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone so I ran with it. I really hope you enjoy it.

“Fuck it! Fucking bullshit.” Lydia says abruptly, shutting the thriller book she’d been reading with a sharp snap of sound and throwing it across the room. Peter who’d been lying with his head in her lap, enjoying the gentle caress of her hand as she’d run it absentmindedly through his hair, quips an eyebrow.  

“What’s the matter, princess? That character you’ve been yapping about for days just die?” Peter's says; eyes already fluttering close, interest lost.

“Don’t be a dick,” Lydia replies, slapping him lightly on the chest. “Also don’t fucking princess me.” She adds, curling her hand into a tight fist and hitting him square in the chest with as much force as she can muster; which despite her size is a lot. Peter jerks upwards as the air rushes out of his lungs. It takes him a moment to catch his breath.

“You can’t seriously be this upset over a fictional character.” Sitting up Peter rubs at his chest. Lydia gives him a look that lets Peter know he’s treading on thin ice, but it's never stopped him before. Peter always pushes too far.

“It’s a little pathetic don’t you think.” He mocks, unable to stop himself. Lydia's eyes darken, lips pursed tightly together and in that split second, Peter knows he’s fucked up. Picking up the lamp on the table beside the couch, she hurls it at him. Peter ducks, the lamp makes a crescendo of sound as it smashes on the wall behind him.

“Damn your werewolf reflexes.” Lydia yells, turning on her heel, red hair flying out behind her as she stalks off upstairs, feet pounding on each step as if to hammer home just how pissed off she now is.

“Drama Queen.” Peter mumbles to himself, but he's already following her. When he gets to the stairs, Lydia is already on the landing arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him.

“Get on all fours.” She says, curtly and Peter smirks up at her.

“Lydia, haven’t we moved past this…” They’ve been playing this game of 'balancing' power for weeks now and whilst humiliation was not at its core, it hadn’t stopped Lydia from sprinkling a little of it his way.

“All fours.” She barks, finger pointing to the floor. Her right foot taps out an impatient rhythm as she waits for him to comply. Peter sighs and drops down. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he prowls up the stairs towards her. His movements are predatory, a reminder to Lydia that even now, in this forced domestication he is still the same wild beast. When Peter is halfway up the stairs, Lydia turns her back on him, defiant as ever and walks into the bedroom. Peter sighs, muttering to himself about infuriating women. When he enters the bedroom, still on all fours Lydia is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for him, pristine and perfect. Peter notices the black lead placed on her bed beside her immediately. Lydia follows his gaze and smiles, sickly sweet. The lead's leather has been dosed in wolfsbane, not enough to kill him, or rend him helpless but it drains just enough of his strength away that it keeps him from breaking free.

“What an obedient little baby you are.” Lydia says, words soaked and marinated in patriotism, which honestly sounds a lot more like affection. Maybe that’s why Peter presses his nose against the bare skin of her leg and rubs against it gently. It’s the closest thing to a sorry she’s ever going to get.

“I’m hardy little, sweetheart.” Peter's breath, hot and warm, leaves goosebumps on Lydia skin, in its wake. Peter smirks, Lydia might be able to control her words, but her body has always responded.

“Hmmm.” Lydia hums dismissively but Peter can smell the scent of her spiking arousal, overwhelming strong. Lydia has stopped pretending she can fight it. The inevitability of them was sealed the moment his teeth and claws had marked her that first time on the field. Her blood, hot and warm had spurted from her body, enticingly red, causing the wolf to ache from the sheer want of it. Peter had made the mistake of giving into the instinct and swallowed it down. Lydia will forever be inside him now.

“The bastard that killed her got away with it in the end of the book.” Lydia mumbles leaning into his touch. Reaching down with one hand she winds it into his hair. The familiar jolt that runs up and down his spine, from her touch is electrifying, igniting his bones with a deep-rooted need to be closer to her. To dig his teeth into her flesh. Her blood still haunts him, even now. The sweet taste of it lives under his tongue like a ghost, always there but not quite real. He wants real. He wants more. He’s had more of course. Lydia offering her body, willingly. There are marks all over her body now clamming marks from his claws and teeth but it’s never enough. Because although Peter may have claimed her in body, it’s always been her mind he’s desired above all else. He’s almost there, _almost_.

“That self-entitled bastard wouldn’t take no for an answer. She told him, no and he fucking got away with it.” Lydia says voice layered with emotions: anger, sadness, guilt, shame, pain. She grips at his hair tighter, and it’s in that moment Peter realises why the stupid book has upset her so much.

“Lydia?” Peter questions, leaning up on his knees so he can look at her properly. Lydia lets go of him as she turns her face away, looking out into the crescent moonlit sky. Sighing as she runs her bottom lip through her teeth.

“He got promoted.” Lydia finally says, tone bitter. Her hands tighten into clench fists; nails digging into her palms. “I got kicked out school for false accusations and slander and the fucker gets promoted.”

Anger flares inside Peter, hot and messy. He thinks back to that day when Lydia had appeared on his doorstep, eyes bloodshot red from crying, wrists bruised from the hands of her college professor who'd cornered her in his office. Lydia had gotten away, barely, saved by the powers of a banshee scream. Still, the college eager to retain their pristine elite status had treated her claims as a disgruntled student, upset that her grades were under par and when she had refused to stay quite had kicked her out.

Peter had planned to kill him, tear his flesh from his bones, slow enough that he could endure nights of painful agony and then Peter would have left his mangled body, outside Lydia's door as a gift. Like he’d done with the fucker who’d mugged her a week before the office incident, that man had left a knife wound on her arm. Her blood hadn’t tasted right, as he’d licked that wound clean. It hadn't been right because Peter hadn't been the one to draw it out. However before Peter could conduct his plan for the dear professor, Lydia had trapped him here and begun this little game instead.

“You should have let me kill him.” Peter growls, he is hollowing for retribution, to break free from its confinement and wreak a havoc that is deserving of his fangs.

“He deserves to die.” Lydia agrees, cold and hard. That was an improvement. Before she had scoffed at him, told him to stop being a murderous psycho. It seemed she was coming around.

“Yes.” Peter growls back, encouragingly. His hands coming to rest themselves on her thighs, fingertips digging in a silent plea. Just let me do it, he thinks. Lydia turns her face back towards him. She studies him for a long moment. Peter can hear the irregular rhythm of her heart, its usual steady beat, disjointed and erratic.

“He’s probably done it to girls before, girls less lucky than me and he’ll do it too more. He won’t stop will he?” she says, voice erratic and dangerous close to sounding like his. It was more a statement than a question but Peter shakes his head in response anyway. Lydia nods, face pensive in the knowledge, she’s always known.

“I should be the one to do it. I want to do it.” Lydia says reflectively and there are tears now, threating to fall. She’s lost somewhere deep in her own thoughts, but Peter has been inside her head, he knows how she works. Lydia has always been scared of the darkness inside her. Afraid of being left alone in it.

“ _We_ should do it.” Peter breathes; making sure that she knows that he has never been afraid of the monsters, he lives for them. There’s a blossoming wildness in her eyes as the meaning of his words register. Peter has been aching to see it, only ever seeing the ghost of a promise before. Now they are ablaze.

“Peter.” She whispers, soft and gentle. Like a prayer. It sounds like a yes. Taking his face in her hands and holding him steady Lydia leans down and presses her lips firmly to his. Her heartbeat is changing again, it doesn’t return to its usual one beat behind Peters, now slowly but surely it alters until it aligns with his own. Deifently a yes.

“Let’s go walkies!” Lydia says abruptly as she pulls back holding up the lead which had been left forgotten on the bed whilst they were kissing. Peter rolls his eyes at the antics, but tilts his neck towards her anyway, offering up the collar. It was made from black leather; a simple small strip of material, with a metal loop at the back. Lydia has at least had the decency to match his aesthetic. Truth be told Peter’s grown rather fond of the tight hugging material wrapped around his throat; it’s become a statement piece, a constant sign to the world that he’s _wanted_. He’s already designed the one Lydia will have to match.

Peter, who has always enjoyed the twists and turns their relationship has been fraught with, can’t say that this particular development has been his favourite. Trapped in an abounded cabin surrounded by wolfsbane in the middle of nowhere, being treated like a pet has never been on Peter’s bucket list. Then again having Lydia for a mate hadn’t been on it either, and now, well now that was his favourite thing.

Lydia had lured him; confining him to the cabin and a small area of woodland. Even now she thinks he hadn’t known what had been awaiting him. But he’s Peter Hale, so of course, he had known. Perhaps Peter hadn’t realised quite how far Lydia had been willing to push the role play of owner and pet. And Peter’s not sure he will ever truly forgive her, for making him eat and drink out of bowls with his name etched on it in big bold letters, or having to relieve himself outside. Still, he figured he owed her this one.

Besides Peter, ever the opportunist has found a purpose to it, one that has suited his own desires. Peter never played games he couldn’t win, one way or another. So whilst Lydia has been basking in her new found power, the control. Peter has been unpicking the chains she’s confined herself in for years, unlocking them all and shining a light on the hidden darkness concealed beneath her pristine image. It seems tonight, finally, she’s letting it, him, _them_ loose. He laughs unable to stop himself. Lydia frowns, mistaking the sound for mockery instead of the maddening joy it meant.

“What you don’t think I have the stomach for it?” she accuses, and there’s hurt there. Peter leans forward and kisses the side of her abdomen, soothingly, right where the scars he’d given her are. Leaning back he smiles menacingly up at her, because of course she had the stomach for it, he’d given it to her.


End file.
